on the road
and in the ridges
where rain crackles on windshields wide
the dreams of youth form wicked ideas
they are wild and numerous
and they stretch
all in a breath
from sea to shining sea
how are those golden maps
those spinning compass needles
like four corners in the hot new mexican dust
all the fusion and the willful frustrations
all the winters and their warm summer cousins
just a small, delightful sip of wonder
tinged with a taste of pine and smoke
on our beds
and out the windows
a conspiracy of whispers
that so swiftly wander
all through the light
from the deepest wood to the highest mountain top
where are they now?
those slender wristed girls
like magic on a bedroom stage
and all their curls
in their skin so porcelain
just the only thing
simply… the purest thing
that we ever really wanted
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari
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